


Say Nothing of My Fable

by geneeste



Series: Love & Communication [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Married Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Season 5 AU (sort of?), Season 5 Rewrite (Sort of?), Season/Series 05, This fic seems to defy category, here have a little escapism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: Oliver wakes slowly to the pleasant sensation of his wife kissing her way down his chest. Somehow, the sensation of her lips against his skin is both relaxing and rousing, and it’s the best kind of wake-up call.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. It's been a shitty night, and a shitty morning. I don't know about you, but I could use a distraction.
> 
> I was going to wait to post this until it was totally finished, but I woke up this morning with different needs, so here you go. :) This will be a 3-chapter fic, with chapter 2 finished and chapter 3 very close to being finished. I imagine I'll post chapter 2 tonight or tomorrow morning, and chapter 3 shortly thereafter. All told it should be roughly 11k-12k words. I'm rating it a little higher because of the beginning sexy times scene (just in case), but there's nothing graphic. Sorry?
> 
> It's not really a season 5 rewrite- you'll see I'm sticking fairly close to canon-but it's also not really an AU. I sort of just changed one major thing to see how it would affect everything else. This fic is a sequel of sorts to [How the Day Sounds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4103407/chapters/18938153), but you don't need to read that fic to understand this one. The only thing you need to know: here, Oliver never lied to Felicity about William, and they never broke up.
> 
> I'm also positive that there will be more in this series (maybe not quite this long), but I'm doing NaNo this month to catch up on CALW, so there probably won't be anything new in this series until December at the earliest. Have no fear, however, this one is meant to be a stand-alone, so no cliffhangers to worry about. Also, if you want to play in this universe, you have my blanket permission to do so, just link it to me so I can read it. ;)
> 
> Title is from Bon Iver's song "8 (circle)." Blame theshipsfirstmate for that one, she reminded me of the new album. XD Some people deserve a lot of credit here: hannasus (for her thoughts and excellent technical ability as a beta and writer), bethanyactually (for her excellent grasp of storytelling), and YellowFlicker (for her wonderful encouragement and support and thoughts).
> 
> Take care of yourselves, guys.

Oliver wakes slowly to the pleasant sensation of his wife kissing her way down his chest. Somehow, the sensation of her lips against his skin is both relaxing and rousing, and it’s the best kind of wake-up call.

“Morning.” He smiles, opening his eyes only when she stops.

Felicity grins up at him through a curtain of blond hair, tracing feather-light patterns into his abs. “Should I let you go back to sleep?”

“You better not.” He pulls her up as he sits, settling her hips against his, pulling her legs up and around him.

They’ve both been pushing hard these last few months - juggling the Mayor’s office with his Arrow duties now that it’s just the two of them has not been easy, to say the least. It’s been long hours and little sleep, but not one part of him wants her to stop in favor of more shuteye.

Though he does want to ask why _she’s_ awake; he has to be up soon, but she doesn’t. She could sleep in, but he’s starting to notice a pattern of her being out of bed before he even wakes up, and considering she’s staying up as late as he is, that’s worrying.

This pattern, it has to do with the thing they’re not talking about. About why she seems to have nightmares more and more, and why she’s always pushing herself to do more, to be out more. She’s always had a busy mind, but now it seems like she’s afraid of being still. Every time he brings it up she evades, actively trying to distract him from having the conversation.

Having the conversation is inevitable, but he doesn’t want to have it now. Right now, they need this intimacy - despite all the time they spend together every day, they haven’t had many chances for it.

She’s still grinning, huffing against his lips. “Such a show off.”

“Only for you,” he replies, filling every pause with a kiss. He slides his hands under her gray sleep shirt, one she pilfered from him, and gently caresses her lower back, careful of her still-pink incision scars and the area that will probably always be tender, applying more pressure up between her shoulder blades in a massage he knows she loves.

“Show off some more,” she says as she grinds herself down onto him, causing him to groan.

“As you wish,” he murmurs against her neck, quoting her favorite movie, and revels in her delighted laugh. He lifts her and settles her softly on her back, and then pushes her shirt up to kiss her stomach and beyond.

He’s late to work again that day. He's not even a little sorry.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Oliver steps out of the elevator into the lair, looking forward to getting out of his suit. He tucks his hands in his pockets and heads toward Felicity’s platform, trying to shake off some of his fatigue on the way.

He screwed up the benefit, he knows that. Thea was right that he needed to focus more on the Mayor’s office, and he should listen to her more, but there’s only so much one man can do. Keeping the city safe has to take precedence. If he can’t do that as Mayor - and despite what Thea said, he still isn’t sure he can - then he’ll do it as the Green Arrow.

God, he wishes Dig were here.

As he gets closer, he hears Curtis’ voice. “...still hurting? Do you want me to see if Paul has time for a late session?”

“No, it’s fine,” Felicity says softly, sounding weary. “I have physical therapy with him tomorrow, we’ll work it out then.”

If she’s in pain, why is she still here? She should have been home well before now, relaxing in bed. He steps up on the platform. “What are you two doing here? It’s late.”

Curtis gets to his feet from whatever he’d been doing on the floor. “That’s what I told her, but she’s been complaining that the secondary processor keeps overclocking the GPU cache.”

Amused, he nods as if he understood anything about what Curtis just said. “Must be nice to have someone down here who speaks Felicity.”

As much as he’d like her to be home resting, Oliver’s also glad to come back to her after the rough night he’s had, and equally glad she hadn’t had time to change and make it to the party just to stand by his side, especially when she’s already uncomfortable.

There’ll be gossip tomorrow, media speculating over why she wasn’t with him tonight, but he doesn’t care. She has his back here, and everywhere else, and that’s all the matters.

“Well, I’m strictly repair and maintenance. You guys are the vigilantes,” Curtis replies.

“Yeah, well, it’s getting to be an awfully big club,” Felicity says. There’s tension in her voice, probably caused by the same back and nerve pain that she’s been dealing with on and off for the last few months. He can read it in her posture, how she’s trying to keep from curling into herself and away from the discomfort.

It makes him feel tense too, and powerless, and he moves behind her to rub her back.

“What’s this?” he asks when she hands him a folder over her shoulder, settling back into his touch.

“A little dossier on Wild Dog,” she says, noticeably trying to lighten her voice and sound more cheerful.

“Wild Dog?”

“Yeah, you know,” she leans her head back to look up at him, ponytail brushing against his abdomen when she rolls her head to look between him and Curtis, “because of the shirt. ‘Silly Dog’ just didn’t seem to have the same ring to it.”

“No,” Curtis agrees, then proudly adding, “I suggested the ‘wild’.”

Oliver frowns. “Right, and why do I need a dossier on him?”

“I was thinking,” she says, straightening up and turning her chair to face him, and he knows that tone. “Instead of putting an arrow in him, you might consider bringing him into the fold.”

Curtis’ mouth drops open. “He shot him? You shot him?”

Oliver looks at Curtis, and tries hard not to react to his incredulity. He doesn’t know why Curtis would be surprised, he’s been around long enough to know how Oliver would respond to an inexperienced interloper.

“Okay, I know it’s not the most enticing of recruitment pitches,” Felicity continues, gearing up for the hard sell, “but there are plenty of candidates willing to compensate for our ineffectual-slash-corrupt police department. Evelyn Sharp, Mr. Ski Goggles - still workshopping that codename.”

“I’m-” He takes a deep breath, trying not to get upset. This isn’t the first time she’s brought this up, but it is the first time she’s brought Curtis into the discussion, and he can’t help but feel a little ganged-up on. “ _We’re_ not putting together a new team.”

“Oliver, we’re a little short-handed,” she says gently, and it’s obvious she’s trying to be understanding, trying not to be pushy.

“Just for a little while. John will come back, Thea will come back.” They will - he and Felicity and John and Thea - they were a team before, and they’ll be a team again. He needs to believe that’s true.

Felicity stands, and Oliver winces for her, watching as she moves slowly and stiffly. “And if they don’t?”

He takes her hand. “Then I will handle it,” he reassures her.

She’s quiet for a second. Then she turns to Curtis. “We should go to bed,” she says, then visibly does a double-take. “Not you and me. _We_ should not go to bed. I meant I’ll go to bed with- HOME, I’ll go _home_ with my husband, and you should go home to yours.”

Curtis, to his credit, takes that truly wonderful ramble with aplomb and only a little bit of humor. “Right, sleep it is. Goodnight.” He leaves with a nod to and a grin to Felicity.

“Haven’t had one of those in a while,” Oliver teases when they’re alone.

Felicity sighs. “Hush, you.” She steps forward until she’s leaning into his chest. “Oliver,” she starts hesitantly.

And he should have known she was getting Curtis to leave so that she could try to convince him privately. “Felicity, I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight.” Or at all. “Why don’t you go ice your back, try to get some sleep?”

Her hold around his waist tightens. “You’re going out again?”

“I was planning to,” he confesses.

“Don’t, Oliver. You said yourself that you’re tired, and being the Green Arrow is dangerous enough when you’re not. Come home. I’ll sleep better if you’re with me.”

It’s clearly a ploy, and an effective one because he knows it’s true. She doesn’t sleep as much anymore, but she does seem less restless when they’re together. So is he.

He never could deny her anything. “Okay.”

She pulls him down for a quick peck on his lips. “Thank you,” she tells him earnestly, and then leads him off the platform, shutting off lights on their way to the elevator.

It’s been a frustrating day, but he’ll end it the same way he started it: in Felicity’s arms. He’ll always call that a win.

 

* * *

 

It’s around 3 in the morning when the sound of Felicity crying jolts him out of sleep.

He bolts into a sitting position, heart beating wildly while he looks around the room to find the threat. But there’s no one else in their bedroom, and Felicity is lying right next to him, in the same position she was in when they fell asleep. She makes another anguished noise, and he realizes that she’s having a nightmare, sobbing in her sleep.

 _God_. The fear he felt at waking is replaced with a bone-deep dread at whatever she’s dreaming that would make her cry like that. Quickly, he lies back down close to her, pushes sweaty hair away from her face. “Felicity, sweetheart, wake up.”

Oliver shakes her gently, and she jerks awake, pulling away instinctively, eyes frantic for a chilling moment. He gives her a second to get her bearings, hands hovering over her, then pulls her into him as close as he can get her.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, I’m here,” he says, repeating himself again as she shakes in his arms. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

He strokes her steadily, from her neck to her hip, hoping that it’s a grounding touch. “Want to tell me about it?”

She burrows further into his arms, but shakes her head. “Will you just hold me for a while?”

He nods, pressing a kiss into her hair. He lets her turn over so that she can place her pillow where she needs it between her knees, and gathers her up so that her back fits snugly against his chest.

The way her breath is still hitching, the way she grabs his hand and tucks it against her heart, does nothing to reduce the pit of dread and concern that’s gathered in his stomach.

“I wish you would talk to me,” he murmurs.

She takes a sharp, stuttering breath. “I want to,” she says, and he can feel her winding up again, can hear the high tone of anxiety in her voice. “I just--I can’t--”

“Okay,” he tells her, kissing her neck soothingly. “Shh. It’s okay.”

He understands. Sometimes there are no words.

He pulls the covers up higher around them, even though it’ll probably make him sweat later. It’s worth it if it will help her feel even a little bit more secure.

He holds her for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Felicity’s somehow both surprised and so _not_ surprised to see Oliver walk into the lair the following day. It took her a while to convince him to leave that morning, and she knows that he didn’t go straight to the office, if his missing Green Arrow suit is any indication. (And what has he done with it? Stuffed it in a closet at City Hall? She really needs to have a talk with him about proper vigilante costume storage.)

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says, pointing. “City Hall is that way.”

“Wanted to see if you had info on our new player,” he says as he jogs up the platform and steps in close. “And I wanted to check on you.”

Inwardly, she cringes. She’s not necessarily embarrassed about what happened last night - heaven knows she’s held him through the worst of his nightmares - but she’s...something. She actually doesn’t remember much about the dream, except that it had something to do with a flash of light and a sea of ash, and her looking for Oliver and being unable to find him.

She doesn’t need a therapist to tell her what the dream’s about, but she’s also terrified of examining it too closely. Acknowledging it would make it real, and she doesn’t want it to be real.

It also doesn’t help that she and Paul, along with what seems like an army of doctors, are still trying to manage her recovery from her spinal cord injury. They tried to prepare her; there had been many conversations, before and after the chip was implanted, about residual pain from injury itself, as well as pain caused by nerves regenerating and firing again. She took those warnings seriously, even though at the time she’d just been so excited about the miracle that was Curtis’ bioimplant.

As it turns out, talking about her recovery and experiencing it are two very different things. She’s still trying to rebuild her strength and endurance, which is particularly difficult when recent events, and chronic pain, are making her feel exhausted before she even starts her day.

Oliver is wonderful, and incredibly supportive, but she doesn’t know how to tell him about what she’s feeling. She doesn’t want to be treated with kid gloves, or have him fight her about being in the lair, being on the team. Aside from him, it feels like her most important lifeline.

And right now, unless she can convince him to bring other people in, it’s basically just Oliver out there trying protect their city. She can’t afford to step back while it’s just the two of them. She can’t - she _won’t_ \- risk him.

“I promise you, I’m fine. Like I told you last night. And this morning.” She makes her voice sound amused, light, and she hopes it’s enough to throw him off the scent for a while.

It’s probably not going to last - Oliver is way more intuitive than most people give him credit for - but it’s the way she needs it to be right now. She needs him to think she’s okay, needs to _pretend_ to be okay for a while longer.

And Oliver, bless him, seems to understand that. He pushes her glasses farther up her nose affectionately. “Okay,” he says, and lets it go.

It actually makes her feel slightly better, and she gives him a genuine smile. “How’d you ditch your security detail?”

He pauses. “I used to ditch John Diggle.”

The mention of their absent friend gives her a twinge of sadness, but mostly she thinks it’s funny that he actually sounds a little offended. “Yeah,” she says skeptically, just to mess with him.

He makes a disgruntled noise, and she’s still smiling when she hits a button on her keyboard to pull up the latest bad guy’s rap sheet. “Tobias Church, aka ‘Charon’.”

“The ‘Ferryman of Hades.’ Left gold coins on the eyes of one of his victims last night,” Oliver supplies.

Felicity gives him an impressed look. “Well, well, well.”

To her delight, Oliver looks bashful for a minute. “I didn’t fail _every_ course that I took in college.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, squeezing his bicep. “You have uncharted depths.”

As he huffs a laugh, she continues. “Warrants out for his arrest on no less than twenty murders, and those are just the ones they can connect him to.”

“Mr. Church just became our top priority,” he says, sobering up.

Which just brings her back to the same concern she’s been having since John left. “ _Our_ is not going to be enough for this guy.”

“Okay, Felicity-” Oliver starts, clearly trying to forestall an argument.

But she can’t let this go - he’s putting himself in danger every night that he goes out alone, and he doesn’t have to. “Church runs with a crew, and ours is not coming back.”

He shakes his head, moving away. “You don’t know that.”

She really doesn’t understand why he’s still in denial about this. “Yes, I do. Thea and Diggle have been out for months. If they were going to come back, they would have by now. You need to accept this, Oliver. You need to move forward, _we_ need to move forward, especially with guys like this coming into town.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s not going to be staying very long,” he says, all confidence and bravado.

God, that’s just not comforting, not even a little bit.

“I’m not just worried about him, I’m worried about you,” she doesn’t mean to snap at him, but she’s tired, and she’s hurting, and she’s worried. She sits down in her chair, trying to relieve the pressure in her back, and put some space between them. Maybe Oliver won’t feel so pressed then.

She feels a little calmer too, grabbing his hand because she needs the connection. “Between being the Mayor and being the Green Arrow, you’re stretching yourself way too thin, something’s going to give. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He squats down, like he used to when she was in her chair. “Felicity, I’m not going to get hurt. I’ve got this. Just...find a way for me to find Church. Please?”

Looking at the stubborn set of his jaw, she can see that he’s just not ready to hear her on this. Not unlike how she’s not ready to hear him about...other things. She’ll just have to be patient and keep trying, but pushing right now probably won’t get them anywhere but angry with each other.

Sighing, she runs her free hand over his beard. “Alright, I will.”

He tilts his head into her touch, squeezes her hand. “Thank you. You’ll meet me at the ceremony later?”

She gives him a little smile and nods.

As he leaves and Curtis comes in, she gets the spark of an idea: if Oliver won’t check out his options for vigilante trainees, she’ll just get Curtis to do it. She’s walking a very fine line here between what she knows they need and what Oliver wants, but it’s necessary. This can’t go on.

They need help, and she has a feeling they’ll need it sooner rather than later.

 

* * *

 

It’s a pretty day out on the bay - a good day for honoring Laurel.

Felicity’s not sure about the statue, though. She’s pretty certain that Laurel would feel more embarrassed than honored by the idea of her likeness set in stone, and she can practically hear her friend snark a comment that the statue doesn’t look anything like the Black Canary.

That thought makes Felicity smile a little bit.

But then again, this isn’t really for Laurel, or even the Black Canary, it’s for the rest of them. They’re the ones who have to miss her, who need something to remember her by, something to hope for. Laurel would certainly understand that.

Felicity stands next to Thea, listening to Oliver’s speech - which he came up with on his own, she’s proud of him for that - when she catches sight of Quentin in the crowd. She knew that Oliver had visited him, but she didn’t think he would be here today.

It’s the first time she’s seen him since before her mother broke up with him. He’s clearly still not doing well. Which is another thing she’s going to worry about, apparently.

The sound of motorcycles and gunfire shakes her out of her thoughts, and she freezes. A hundred different images assault her, and she’s sure she feels leather under her cheek and broken glass against her palms. Her side burns.

Then she’s on the ground, Thea having tackled her, and it shocks her back into the present. They’re down behind a bench, along with Quentin, who is half-covering her with his body. Neither she nor Thea are bleeding, and her back throbs, but it’s not a new pain. The burning sensation in her side is gone as quickly as it appeared.

There’s little time for relief, though, because men in black leather and helmets are making their way through the scrambling crowd. They’ve already taken down several of the police providing security for the event, as well as Oliver’s protection detail.

She looks up, desperately trying to place Oliver, and finds him fighting two bad guys all on his own. He’s punching helmets - what good will that do? Absurdly, she wants to yell at him to save his hands and punch guts instead, like she’s an expert on hand-to-hand combat.

She can tell the exact moment he realizes that he’s either going to have to reveal himself as the Green Arrow or give up and play helpless, because he breaks partway through a lunge, jaw clenched in anger, and instead puts his hands up.

He makes eye contact with her for an instant, and she can feel him willing her stay down, to not draw attention to herself, then the men grab him and shove him into the back of a police van with a few other people, and he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

She is going to give Oliver the loudest frakking _I told you so_ ever when he gets back.

They’d been released from the scene just a few minutes ago, but the ride back to the lair had seemed interminable. Felicity had spent most of her time at the bay answering asinine questions from the police, who just wanted to be seen making an effort to recover their Mayor, and dodging press shouting questions about how she felt about being shot at again, or what she was going to do now that her husband was missing.

The questions were obviously designed to make her break down - footage of the mayor’s crying wife would have made an excellent pairing with the evening report about the attack. The press hadn’t made her cry, but they had made her very, very angry. It’s a good thing Thea had been there to coach her, otherwise there’s no telling what Felicity would have said.

She practically stomps her way to her station, Thea and Quentin in tow.

Curtis meets her there. “Why didn’t Oliver fight back?”

She glares at him, and he course-corrects immediately. “Sorry. Really dumb question.”

She’s already got searches going through every security camera she can find, which unfortunately are nowhere near where Oliver and his staff were taken, and she gets her facial recognition program filtering the feeds as they come in for Oliver and Church.

She’s going to kill Oliver. First, she’s going to get him back, and then she’s going to kill him. And then make him sleep on the couch.

Oh, who is she kidding. She’s not going to make him sleep on the couch. Although, she is seriously considering tying him to their bed, and not for fun reasons.

“Can we track the van?” Thea asks, pacing the floor below her platform.

“No, they shut down traffic cameras,” Felicity replies, focused on the monitor in front of her.

“And there are no satellites over the area,” Curtis cuts in. “We’re blind.”

That’s fine, she’ll find him. Everything’s fine. She’s just going to ignore the popping sounds echoing in her ears, and the fact that her hands are shaking, that pain is shooting down her legs and up her spine, and that she’s been smelling an icy winter night ever since the first shot went off back there on the docks.

That’s not what’s happening right now. She’s looking for Oliver. Nothing else is important.

Quentin steps in close next to her. “You alright?” he murmurs lowly, so the others don’t hear.

She’s grateful for that, at least. She’s shaking her head before she really thinks about it, then stops. The truth won’t help right now. “Fine,” she answers shortly.

If he wanted to say anything else, he’s waylaid by Thea. “Okay, well, if the SCPD van was legit, the police are going to be no help.”

“Maybe this is a job for Speedy,” Felicity replies, talking as fast as she can because, for once, her brain is racing faster than her mouth can keep up. “Can you suit up and hit streets for intel?”

“Can you maybe try to hack into the police department and see if there’s any internal chatter we can go on?” Thea counters.

Felicity is momentarily speechless. If rescuing Oliver from the custody of a homicidal crime boss won’t bring Thea back, even temporarily, then Felicity doesn’t know what will.

“My brother can take care of himself,” Thea says, more kindly this time.

_He shouldn’t have to._ That’s what Felicity wants to say, but she won’t, because she really does understand why Thea doesn’t want to be Speedy anymore. Understanding why Thea has no intention of coming back is one of the major reasons that Felicity is so insistent for a new team - it’s not her place to try to convince Thea otherwise.

And when she gets Oliver back, she’s going to make sure he gets it too. It’s not an argument she’s willing to avoid having any longer.

A few minutes pass; Thea goes off to be alone, and Felicity and Curtis continue to scour whatever feeds they can get their hands on for signs of criminal activity that would lead them back to Church. She’s reviewing a street cam on the industrial side of town, trying to ignore Quentin’s hovering, when an alert goes off on Curtis’ computer.

“Hey, Felicity, you probably want to come take a look at this,” he says.

On his screen, there’s footage of a man holding up hand-written signs: _1990 Water St, Star City 98114_ and _Are you there Green Arrow?_

“Any chance it’s _not_ the people who have Oliver?” Quentin asks.

Felicity eyes him, and he shrugs. He looks rough and disheveled, but his cop eyes are as sharp as ever. “It’s a big city. Plenty of room for perps.”

She prints screenshots of the footage, talks as she puts the photos together in a folder. “It’s them. Tobias Church’s gang, specifically. They’re new in town, taking over rival organizations and shaking up basically every illegal trade they can find.”

Now that she knows where Oliver is, she’s not sure what to do with the information. To her surprise, Quentin holds out his hand for the file, gesturing expectantly. When she gives it to him, he goes immediately to the conference room that Thea disappeared into earlier.

“Okay,” Curtis mumbles, “We’ll just...sit here and wait then.”

They don’t take long. Quentin must be very persuasive, because not even 5 minutes later they both come out, Thea heading toward her red suit.

Felicity honestly hadn’t expected that. “What are you doing?”

“I guess I’m going after your husband,” Thea says ruefully. “Just this once.”

Felicity nods, more than happy to agree with that condition. “Thank you, Thea.”

Thea sighs, and starts to take the suit off the manikin. “Don’t thank me yet.”

 

* * *

 

Thea confirms over the radio that she and Oliver are okay and on their way back, and although she sounds agitated, it doesn’t sound like anyone’s hurt and she’s lying about it, so that’s a plus.

Felicity blows a breath of relief, and makes her way out to the garage to wait. She uses the time to do some breathing exercises she learned from Oliver during their summer traveling - she’d wanted to know the exercises for him, to help him through the worst of his panic attacks. She’d never imagined then that she might need them now.

She really shouldn’t be reacting this way. They’d been through so much worse - hell, in the last six months alone - and Oliver’s been kidnapped more times than either of them could count. But the truth is, things are different now. After Darhk, after Laurel, and with John gone...it’s a lot. They’ve always had backup before. It’s never just been the two of them just trying to keep the fight going, not for this long.

More relief floods in when the growl of the motorcycle bounces off the garage walls, and Thea and Oliver come into sight. It’s a little comical, actually, giant Oliver on the back enveloping his tiny sister while she maneuvers the bike to a stop.

“Hey.” He climbs off the bike, and although his clothes are filthy and he’s got a bruise blooming along his jaw, he looks mostly fine.

“Hey. Are you alright?” Felicity asks, just to be sure.

“Fine.” He closes the distance between them, brushes his knuckles against her cheek and settles his hand on the side of her neck. “Are _you_ okay? You weren’t hurt?”

She shakes her head, and he lowers his voice. “And with the gunshots...you okay with that?”

For a man who is so often oblivious when it comes to his own emotions, he sure is good at pinning her down (in more ways than one, her brain helpfully supplies). It’s kind of a blessing and a curse.

She gives him a lopsided smile, reaching up to stroke his wrist. “It was not great. But aside from my damaged pride at being taken down by a tiny pixie, I'm good now.”

“I'm right here,” Thea says, pulling off her gear. “And I'm okay too, thanks for asking.”

Felicity flicks her eyes over to Thea. Her tone is wry, but her movements are jerky and angry.

Confused, Felicity turns back to Oliver, who warns her off with a subtle shake of his head. “Would you mind looking for the power station blueprints? Church’s crew set up an explosive cordon, and we need a way through it.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, heading out to do that and give them a minute to resolve whatever it is that has Thea upset. Well, more upset than when she started.

It only takes a few minutes - few systems hold up for long under her nimble fingers (and Felicity’s grateful no one’s around to hear that innuendo-laden observation) - and she heads back to let Oliver know they’re ready for his review.

But raised voices can be heard through doors as she approaches, and she halts. She really doesn’t want to get between the Queen siblings - their arguments can be brutal.

_“-could have killed Damien Darhk before that night at Iron Heights, before he sent his ghosts to shoot Felicity. I had multiple chances to do so and I didn’t. Because I thought that taking the high road was more important than saving lives, than protecting my family, and that is a mistake that I will never, ever make again.”_

Scratch not wanting to get involved - after hearing Oliver’s declaration, so rough and heavy with guilt, it takes all her willpower not to march in there and call a time-out just so she can hold him.

She had an inkling in the last few months that OIiver was feeling this way, but she had no idea the extent of it. His wanting to go it alone makes a lot more sense now.

_“I wouldn’t call not killing people a mistake, Ollie-”_

_“I_ would _, because when I did take Darhk down for good, I had to confront the fact that Malcolm Merlyn was right. Either I’m willing to do whatever is necessary, or I shouldn’t be out there at all.”_

“ _Which is exactly why I can’t be. I won’t ever again.”_

_“Thea-”_

_“No, I--Ollie, I am sorry, but I want to honor Laurel just as much as you do, just not like this. And I don’t care what your reasons are, putting killing back on the table is a_ huge step backwards _, and I don’t want anything to do with it.”_

There’s sudden silence, and she doesn’t need to be in the room to know that Thea has stormed out. A heavy feeling settles on her shoulders, sadness for both Oliver and Thea, because she sympathizes with them both. She agrees with Oliver, but she also understands where Thea is coming from. This confrontation was inevitable, and the fact that it probably can’t be resolved makes it worse.

The doors open, and as soon as Oliver sees her, his whole body seems to deflate. It breaks her heart a little bit. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Hazard of the job,” she replies, and she’s not sure if she’s referring to being his wife or his partner in crime. He stops in front of her, and she takes the opportunity to hug his arm, tucking her cheek against shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

His shoulder lifts under her cheek. “Just seeing Thea in the suit, it just made me feel like everything was going to get back to normal.”

At some point, he’s going to have to let that hope go. “Hon, our old normal doesn’t exist anymore. We need to start finding a new one.”

Man, she’s one to talk. It’s hard to ignore the hypocrisy in that statement, considering she’s basically the poster child for not dealing right now. But still. “Speaking of which...what did Thea mean when she said you were putting killing back on the table?”

She steps back so that she can see his face, which has become a lot more closed off than it was a few seconds ago. “I tried to work Church, convince him to let the other hostages go, but all I did was piss him off.”

“You? No!” she jokes.

“Right.” The corners of his mouth curl momentarily before falling again. He meets her eyes slowly, like he’s afraid of how she’ll respond to what he’s about to say. “He sent me to a guy to ‘teach me some manners.’”

All levity flees. “You mean torture you.”

His eyebrows tick up in agreement. “And I killed him.”

She swallows. She will never, ever be okay with the words Oliver and torture in the same sentence. And as much as she knows Oliver wanted to avoid killing, she also knows that it won’t always be possible. “Okay. I...can’t say I’m super broken up about that.”

The way he looks at her, like he’s braced for a blow, makes her hurt. “Even though I swore I’d never kill again?” he asks at length.

“Do you want Cheerleader Felicity, who’s supposed encourage you, or Killjoy Felicity, who’s supposed to get you back on track? Just to warn you, Killjoy Felicity has had a lot of practice lately, so she’s really on point.”

That involuntary smile is back, the one that’s her favorite because it means she surprised him. He shakes his head. “I just want you. What do _you_ think?”

She considers him, the man who is her sweet, gentle, loving partner, but who is also capable of incredible, devastating violence in the name of justice. She knows both parts of him, and loves him whole.

If he wants her to tell him that she’d rather he sacrifice his life for the sake of keeping an ideal...well, she’s not sure she can.

“I think I’d rather you be willing to make the tough decisions and come home to me every night. You’re not the man you were five years ago, Oliver. I trust you to make the right call.” She’s gratified to see some of the tension seep from his body at that, happy that she can help him a little before she has to bring up another issue. “ _Including_ knowing when to ask for help.”

That's as subtle a segue as she can manage, which is to say not very subtle at all. And yep, the tension in his shoulders is back, and he turns to make his way over to their wall of monitors where she’s put up the dossiers on the candidates she’s vetting.

Frak.

“Hey, look,” he says, choosing his words carefully when she joins him. “Being a vigilante is not just putting on a mask and thinking up a codename. These people are amateurs, Felicity. You really think that they’re going to replace Dig, or Thea, or Laurel? They couldn’t do that if I wanted them to, and I _don’t want them to_.”

He’s getting upset again, and she hates that. But she put this off, avoided pressing him on it, and then he got kidnapped by the very guy he said he could handle on his own. Thea’s not going to be around to intervene a second time. “I don’t _want_ to replace them either, hon, but we need to.”

“After what happened with Laurel,” he starts, pointing at the pictures on the screens, “how can you ask me to put more people in the crosshairs?”

She taps her chest. “ _I’m not_ asking you to - they’re already out there, Oliver. Because of you, inspired _by you_. And we can train them, make them better and safer, or we can stand back and see what damage they can do by themselves. Either way, you’re making a choice. You have the ability and the power to guide them, you’re just choosing not to.”

“I am choosing not to put anyone else in danger who is not prepared for it. I am choosing to do this myself so that no one else gets hurt.” He’s gone on the defensive, every word deliberate and his body language almost belligerent.

She doesn’t how she went from reassuring him minutes ago to fighting with him now. This thing escalated quickly, but she can't back down - she needs him to hear her.

“You’re right,” she says, making a weary gesture with her hand. She feels, and probably sounds, like a broken record, playing the same note over and over again. “But you’re not alone. If you’re not going to think about yourself, I wish you’d think about me.”

His face screws up in hurt and confusion. “What are you talking about? You--you are _the_ _most_ important thing I think about.”

“Then how do you think I feel, watching you go out without backup, knowing that I’m not going to be able to help you when something goes wrong?” Making this about her well-being is the best - and the worst - way to make him listen to her. “You’re exhausted, and if you keep this up, you’re going to make a mistake, and I’m going to feel like it’s my fault because I couldn’t do anything about it. I’m not enough, Oliver, I won’t ever be.”

And there it is, the thing Felicity’s been afraid to acknowledge since Havenrock: that she failed, that she’s going to fail again, and she’s going to lose him to her failure.

When he opens his mouth, she knows he’s going to deny it, but if she lets him focus on that part she’ll never get the rest out. “And I know, I _understand_ that you don’t believe that’s true, but I do. I need you to get that. It can’t be just you anymore, it can’t be just me, it has to be _us_. You need to think about _our_ future.”

In the background, the hard drives click away in her computers, and the air conditioner runs loudly in the distance. Meanwhile, Oliver just stands in front of her, looking stunned and stressed and angry, and it sucks knowing she’s responsible for a lot of it.

Not all of it, but enough.

“I need to think of a way to stop Tobias Church,” he says finally, voice level.

“Oliver-”

“So you let me know when you find a way around the kill cordon.”

He walks past her without another word, probably toward the en suite to get changed, but she doesn’t look to see for sure. They both need time to cool off, and she’s too anxious to go after him right now.

Besides, she never did get him to look at the power station’s blueprints. She has work to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there'll be one more chapter. A short one. Because I am a lying liar who lies.
> 
> This story, and this chapter in particular, would be a mess without hannasus and bethanyactually. Continuing thanks to YellowFlicker for getting me out of writing funks with her wonderful encouragement.

Oliver stares out over the bay, willing his racing mind to quiet.

There’s an edginess building in his muscles, leaving him tense and impatient. His people are still hostages, and there’s only so long he can be out before someone spots him and figures out the Mayor isn’t one of them. He understands that Quentin wants to talk strategy, but Oliver needs to be active, working toward a rescue. It’s not really in him to wait.

And then there’s his fight with Felicity. He agreed to meet Quentin here, thinking the open space would help him think, maybe help him find some clarity. He hasn’t found it yet.

It’s times like these that he misses John the most. Not just as his partner in the mission, but as his friend. He misses John’s counsel. Oliver knows it’s a longshot, but he calls him on the off chance he’s available.

Oliver was right; John doesn’t answer, his voicemail picking up instead. _“Hey, this is John. Leave a message.”_

Oliver breathes the night air in deeply, disappointed. “Hey, John. Uh…” He’s not even sure what he wants to say, now that he knows Dig’s not going to hear this until later. Nothing he wants to say is going to fit, or really even make sense, over a voicemail. 

“I hope that everything’s going well...over there. Listen, no pressure, but, uh, give me a call back when you get a chance. I...have a question, I figure you probably have an answer. Be well.”

He hangs up the phone, and mentally kicks himself for calling Diggle. Oliver knows that his friend has better things to do, definitely needs to focus on his own fight, but...Dig’s really the only person who can help him with this. With moving on from their old team, and with this fight with Felicity.

He’s been replaying their argument ever since he left the lair. Actually, he’s been replaying a lot of their conversations, all the times Felicity asked him to consider recruiting a new team over the past few months. Now that his anger at being confronted has faded, he’s starting to really hear all the undercurrents in her words that he missed before.

He attributed her feelings to the aftermath of Havenrock, and he wasn’t entirely wrong about that, but he believed it because it was more convenient than acknowledging his own role in the self-doubt and stress she’s been feeling. He didn’t hear her because he didn’t _want_ to hear her.

Felicity didn’t call him selfish outright, but she didn’t need to. It’s obvious now that he has been.

At first, he thought that they could just bide their time until Dig and Thea came back. He didn’t want to bring anyone else in because he honestly thought they wouldn’t need to. And bringing in help felt like he was replacing his team at a time when Dig and Thea needed him the most. Just considering it felt incredibly disloyal.

But at some point, his motivations changed. He wasn’t just holding their spots anymore, he was clinging to them. As long as those positions stayed open, it meant they’re coming back. He could throw himself into being the Green Arrow, and rely on Felicity alone for support, because Dig and Thea were coming back.

Except they aren’t coming back. And he’s been putting too much pressure on Felicity in the process, relying too much on their natural partnership to carry him through. They’re good together, incredibly so, but he’s been taking advantage of the fact that Felicity would always want to be there to back him up. 

He’s been taking their relationship for granted, and it’s not fair to her, or their marriage.

The thing is, Oliver doesn’t have a lot of experience to draw on here. His marriage, it’s so much _more_ than any other relationship he’s had with a woman. Which in theory makes sense (he’s never been married before, after all, League of Assassin setups notwithstanding), but it’s also taken him by surprise. It’s more fun, more loving, and most of all, more _work_ than he thought it would be.

His own parents’ marriage looked so easy, and maybe that in and of itself should have been a red flag. As an adult, he knows that they loved each other, but now it’s clear that it looked easy because neither of them really put any effort into it. They put effort into making it _look_ good, but not into actually _making_ it good. They might have been happy at some point, but affairs and secrets and crimes killed their marriage before he and his father ever sailed away on that damn yacht.

Dig and Lyla are really the only example of a mostly-healthy marriage he has, and neither of them are here right now. Which means he’s going to have to figure it out on his own.

Laurel’s stony face staring out at him only reinforces how poorly that could turn out.

“Lonely at the top, Mr. Mayor?” Quentin asks, moving to stand next to him on the dock.

Oliver shakes his head. “Actually, being the mayor isn’t the job that’s lonely.”

Quentin winces. “Thea?”

“Thea’s not coming back,” he confirms with a sigh, hating to say it after all this time insisting otherwise. “Neither is John. Felicity tried to tell me. She’s _been_ telling me, I just...didn’t want to listen.” He glances up at Quentin and then away again. “She’s not very happy with me right now.”

“A woman, upset with you?” Quentin deadpans. “Shocking.”

Oliver glares, and Quentin waves an apology. “Look, at least Felicity’s not going anywhere. Believe me when I say: your wife sticking around is a good sign.”

Given Quentin’s history in that department, Oliver doesn’t know whether to laugh at that or grimace. He goes with a noncommittal shrug. “Fair enough.” 

He turns and makes his way back inland, toward his car, talking as Quentin follows. “There’s a Russian proverb. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately: ‘The shark that does not swim, drowns’.”

“If you don’t move forward, you die.”

“Yeah. Felicity’s right, I can’t take on Tobias Church by myself,” Oliver says.

Quentin snorts in agreement. “Have you told her that?”

Oliver eyes him, deciding to ignore that particular aside for now. He’s right, but they have other concerns. “But there’s no more team, and I can’t trust anyone in the police department.”

“Then don’t.” Quentin halts their walk, and holds up a file. “Just trust these guys.”

Oliver takes it, opening it and scanning the first page.

“Lieutenant Conahan--I trained him back in the day. The guy’s so clean, he doesn’t even double park.” Quentin taps the papers. “And he’s vouched for each of these officers.”

“To do what?”

“To help you,” Quentin says, sounding steady and determined. “Whatever way we can.”

After their last conversation, that’s a surprise. “We?”

Quentin’s face takes on a hint of self-deprecation. “Look, I don’t know any Russian proverbs, all right? But _both_ of us have got to move on.”

Oliver doesn’t have any arguments left, and he can’t avoid it anymore. “Yeah.”

“I thought that was gonna be a bigger fight,” Quentin says, looking nonplussed. Oliver recognizes that expression from his youth, and it’s so familiar that Oliver wants to smile.

Oliver knows it’s going to be a long road back for Quentin, but he’s already seeing a glimmer of the old Lance shine through. He thinks Laurel would have been happy to see it.

“That’s what Laurel would have wanted,” Oliver replies. “And it’s what Felicity wants.”

It’s time--well past time--for Oliver to start listening to her.

\--

Oliver tries to tune out the background chatter between Quentin and his team, staying focused on taking position on a factory across from the power plant without being seen by the dozen or so men gunning for them. He shoots an arrow into an outcropping of the power station, and uses his bow to ride the cord over to the building.

 _“And where do they think ‘here’ is, exactly?”_ Felicity asks. Her voice pierces through his concentration like it’s always done, and he smiles faintly before getting back on task, missing Lance’s reply.

Things between them were still awkward and tense on base, but there was no time to do anything but change out of his business suit and into his vigilante one. The longer his staff stays in Church’s custody, the more danger they’re in, and as much as he hates it, their safety has to be the priority. 

That Felicity seems to understand that - and isn’t holding it against him like she has every right to, given the fact they're still technically fighting - is something Oliver is very grateful for.

Creeping onto a platform located above the main floor, he peeks around the wall to find Church circling Oliver’s three staff members, taunting them with a baseball bat.

It’s an infuriating sight, and Oliver takes pleasure in shooting the bat from Church’s hands before he can do any damage with it.

It outs his position to Church’s men, though, and there’s an instantaneous volley of gunfire, forcing him to retreat for cover. He hears Felicity gasp over the coms, but he can’t spare the time or the noise to reassure her.

Quentin’s cops run in below to lay down suppressive fire, giving Oliver the opportunity to move to a better position.

Somewhere below, Church calls out. “Don’t worry; after I kill you, I’m going to let the hostages go. I promise.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, inching up from a crouch. Like he’s going to believe that.

In his ear, Felicity’s tinny voice agrees. _“Always with the monologuing,”_ she quips, as he jumps over the railing to confront Church away from his goons.

The man’s quicker than Oliver anticipated, and Church has enough training to keep Oliver occupied with the fight longer than he wants to be, long enough for him to start to hear Quentin’s team call for backup. 

Finally, Oliver breaks away and shoots an explosive arrow into a nearby pillar, knocking Church into some barrels, as Felicity’s anxious voice draws his attention back to the comms.

_“-conductor is in the center of--if it goes, the whole building is going to blow. You have to get out of there!”_

Oliver looks back up to find that somehow Church is on his feet and fleeing. “Not without Church,” he growls, taking off after him and running straight into one of the gang members.

He knocks the guy out with a jump kick, and spots one of the cops as he rolls out of it.

“Get them out of here! I’ll disarm the cordon,” he barks, and just sees the other man nod before Oliver spots a ledge above him that can take an arrow and reel him up to the roof faster.

He makes short work of the device there, but he knows that’s not going to be enough to stop the plant from going up. “Overwatch!” he yells.

Felicity immediately gives him the update he’s looking for. _“Hostages are safe. You have maybe five seconds.”_

That’s all he needs. He grabs another corded arrow, shooting the arrow as he jumps out, using it to anchor himself to the abandoned factory across the alley. The hot concussion from the plant explosion propels him up and forward, and he barely has time to brace himself before he overshoots the wall he aimed for and slams into the roof of the building instead. Oliver knows how to fall, and the armor in the back of his suit takes the brunt of his roll, but the landing still takes the breath out of him.

“All good here,” he croaks out, coughing, before Felicity can ask.

Hearing the tell-tale _thwop-thwop-thwop_ of helicopter blades, he shoots to his knees to see it pass just above him, likely with Church inside. He hurries to the ledge, and yes, there’s still time to latch on if he can get the angle right.

 _“Arrow, don’t even think about it!”_ Felicity snaps sharply.

Oh, he’s definitely thinking about it. 

He’s got his bow up and an arrow primed when Lance cuts in. _“She’s right. The Mayor still needs to be rescued, or else all of this is going to get very awkward. Stow your gear at the drop point and get going.”_

Oliver swears, frustration fueling his movements as he jams the arrow back into his quiver. They’re right, he knows they’re right, Church is gone--his helicopter has already risen into the night, hardly visible in the distance. So Oliver sucks it up and heads to the drop point to change back into his battered business suit. “En route.”

He grinds his teeth the whole way.

\--

It’s creeping up on two in the morning when Oliver finally arrives at the lair. He wandered his way into Lieutenant Conahan’s path back at the remains of the power plant, making the excuse that he escaped from his captors in the chaos of the firefight and found his way outside, which they seemed to believe. 

He spent the next few hours at the police station, checking in with his staff, recounting his story over and over again, and although he’s happy to see them taking Church seriously, all he wants to do now is take a shower and go to bed.

Preferably with Felicity. If she'll let him, that is.

The lair is quiet and mostly dark, but he’s not surprised to find Quentin in Felicity’s chair, going over the file they’ve built on Church and his associates. He wonders if Quentin just doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment yet.

Quentin looks up and swivels in the chair. “I see your rescue went well. Our blue friends buy it?”

Oliver’s lip curls, and he shrugs a shoulder. “I think they were relieved they wouldn’t have to explain losing another mayor. Even an interim one.”

“I bet.” Quentin tilts his chin toward the Green Arrow suit behind Oliver, hanging in its usual place. “Felicity sent Curtis to pick up your gear. She said to tell you everything’s accounted for. She’s resting in the suite.”

Oliver nods. “Good.”

Quentin stands, looks hesitant. “How’s she doing?”

Oliver puts his hands in his pockets, stands up a little straighter. There’s something in Quentin’s voice that makes him feel a little defensive. “She’s fine.”

Quentin gaze turns assessing. “Look, not for nothing, but I was there after you were kidnapped. I saw how on edge she was. She is not fine.”

Oliver has to work very hard not to clench his jaw. He wants to tell Quentin that he knows his wife, that this isn’t any of his business. The problem is, Quentin is a cop, a father to daughters even, and he knows trouble when he sees it. Though Oliver isn’t sure how Quentin relates to Felicity, he obviously cares about her enough to initiate a conversation with Oliver that’s uncomfortable for them both.

So OIiver makes a conscious effort to set aside his ego and relax. “I know. I’m working on it.”

Quentin nods, apparently having said his piece. “I’m going to head home, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says. 

Quentin goes to the elevator, looking tired and drawn, and Oliver pictures their meeting in Quentin’s apartment, the image of the man drunk and grieving, hiding away from the world.

Quentin is just stepping into the elevator when Oliver calls his name. Quentin puts a hand on the frame to keep the door open, looking at him expectantly.

“You’re always welcome here,” Oliver tells him.

Quentin almost smiles. “Thanks,” he says, and it sounds cynical, but Oliver is sure that he understands what Oliver is trying to say.

Despite all the pain that being the Arrow has caused, the various Arrow caves have been a refuge for him, a place to regroup. It could be that for Quentin too.

The elevator doors close, and Oliver heads down the darkened hallway that leads to the suite where he and Felicity stay on occasion. The door to the suite is cracked open, and he pushes it open to find Felicity fast asleep.

Several pillows are stacked under her knees, propping her legs up in a position that’s supposed to help relieve back pain. She’s always hated sleeping on her back, even before she was shot, so he knows how much she must be hurting after being tackled by Thea at the dedication.

The next thing he notices is that she left the lamp on his nightstand on, and turned the covers down on his side. It’s an open invitation, a gesture that fills him with relief and warmth. 

He steps into the room, closes the door gently behind him, and walks as quietly as he can toward the connected bathroom, intending to get cleaned up. Felicity’s tired voice stops him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, detouring over to the bed and sitting by her side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t sleeping, just dozing. I took some...some stuff for my back.” Her words are slightly slurred, and her eyes flutter up at him, like she’s having trouble keeping them open. “Sorry, know you want to talk.”

“No, hey, it can wait. Go back to sleep.”

“Not sleeping,” she says, and the stubborn lilt to her voice even as she trails off makes him grin.

“Yes, you’re wide awake,” he says, still grinning.

“S’right,” she replies, and then mumbles something he thinks was supposed to be _Mayor Handsome._ “Love you.”

He leans down and kisses her softly, breathes in her happy sigh. He trails his fingers down over her forehead and her cheekbones and then back up until her breathing evens out, and all the tension leaves her face. She’s smiling in her sleep.

He brushes her hair back for her, and sees the scar in her hairline from the time she was knocked out when their van was rammed during Slade’s siege. Just a few centimeters away from that, there’s another jagged scar from the restaurant explosion on their first date. There are more marks from that incident, two thin white lines on her shoulder where glass sliced her bare arm. 

On her other shoulder, a puckered scar from the Clock King’s bullet. Another bullet scar on her side, with small straight scars down her stomach and up her ribcage from emergency surgery to find and repair the damage the high-powered bullet caused.

And then long, precise lines along her spine, from multiple surgeries, most of which he hadn’t been present for. She’s forgiven him for that, but he still feels the shame and regret from that like it happened yesterday. More than anything else these days, that he ran when she needed him keeps him up at night.

When it does, he counts her scars, reciting their origin and location in his head in a terrible monologue. It reminds him that she’s alive, but each one also marks a stage in their relationship, reminders of what being with him has done to her. He knows she wouldn’t want him to think that way-- _he_ doesn’t want to think that way, he’s come too far through his own blood and tears as well as quite a bit of Felicity’s--but it’s hard not to sometimes.

Especially now with Havenrock, which seems to have done more damage than all of her other injuries have. And it’s worse, somehow, because it’s a scar Oliver can’t touch.

He told Quentin that he’s working on it, and he is, but Felicity has to want to work on it too. He’s not sure she does.

It’s somewhat of an insight into how Felicity might have felt all these years, dragging him kicking and screaming towards the light and healthy self-discovery. A voice in his head, one that sounds an awful lot like Felicity’s, says that’s actually kind of funny. _Funny uh-oh, not funny ha-ha._

He laughs quietly to himself at that, and then goes to clean up for bed.

\--

Oliver is very slow to wake later that morning, which is unusual for him. He’s on his side facing Felicity, and he must have rolled over at some point during the night, because he’s crowding her on her side of the bed. Her head is turned toward him, her breath blowing warmly across his forehead, and the ends of her hair are tickling his nose.

He leans over and kisses the column of her throat, and she hums in response but doesn’t open her eyes, and he’s pretty sure she’s fallen back asleep already. 

He sits up, and his body reminds him very loudly that he is not as young as he used to be. The shoulder that he landed on last night and his upper back are both sore, and his bad knee is already twinging.

It’s not that he misses his 20s, exactly (overall, those weren’t great years for him either), but he does miss how quickly his body would bounce back after a beating. He’s 31, but he’s put more wear on his body than most men do by the time they’re elderly. He definitely feels it more than he used to.

Sucking it up, he grabs his phone off the charger and pads into the bathroom. There’s a spare shaver in the cabinet, which is good because he slept later than he should have and doesn’t have to time to swing by the loft before he has to be at City Hall. It’s not easy trimming his beard and checking his email at the same time, but he manages it with only a few errors.

He has 102 new emails since yesterday morning, most of which are interview requests from local and state media, and the rest are emails from his panicked staff about his schedule and late proposals. 

It’s going to be a long day.

By the time he’s finished, dressed, and knotting his tie, Felicity is groaning awake. 

“Morning.” He steps out of the bathroom, toward the bed. “Feeling better?”

“Yep!” she says cheerfully, but by the way she’s moving, so carefully and gingerly, he can tell she’s lying.

He frowns. “Are you seeing Paul today?”

“Yes, Oliver.” She’s still facing away from him, working through some seated stretches, but he can hear the eye-roll in her tone that she gets when he’s being overprotective. “This morning at 10:30. Believe me, I’m keeping the appointment.”

She finishes her last stretch, then stands up and crosses to the dresser, where she keeps some extra clothes. When she moves in front of the mirror there, she makes a face. “Yikes.”

She’s probably reacting to her hair, which has curled wildly around her face, puffed in some places and flat in others. It’s a privilege to see her like this, unmade and messy in the morning, and he loves it. “You look beautiful.”

She scoffs at him in the mirror, and starts rifling around in the drawers for clothing.

Checking his watch, he sees how little time he has to talk to her, and winces. “I have a press conference in 45 minutes.”

Her reflection looks up at him briefly, before pulling her night shirt over her head. “Okay.”

He steps forward, hating this feeling of uncertainty. She seems more reserved this morning, but he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s not feeling well or if it’s because she’s still upset with him. “I’m sorry, Felicity, I-”

“Oliver,” she interrupts, turning around. She’s just wearing a blue satin bra and her pajama pants now, and he’s putting a lot of effort into focusing on her face. “Come here,” she commands.

Startled, he does so without thinking, and as he gets near she grabs his tie to pull him down to eye level, so that he has to brace his arms around her on the dresser. “Relax, okay? I’m not angry with you.”

At his disbelieving look, she tilts her head. “I’m...annoyed. I _would_ like to talk this out with you, but you can go to your press conference and be awesome without worrying about me. I’ll go do my physical therapy, and we can argue when you get back.”

He blows out a breath. “I hate arguing with you.”

“Then _don’t_ argue with me,” she shoots back impishly.

“Felicity.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I love you.”

“I know.” She leans forward, kissing him, pulling on his bottom lip in a way that makes him groan involuntarily. It takes all his willpower not to deepen it and take advantage of her half-dressed state. When she pulls back, he tries to follow her lips until the hand that was holding his tie starts to push on his chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t move right away, so she straightens his tie and pokes his chest. “Seriously, Oliver, you really are going to be late if you stand there staring at me any longer.”

Lips quirking involuntarily, he steps back. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me,” she says sincerely, and then turns round to grab her clothes to finish getting dressed.

He watches her for a beat longer, letting the sight of her ease the rest of his worry away, and then he goes to work.


End file.
